Superhuman
by Havz
Summary: He's running so hard his lungs are burning. His arms, face, and chest are mottled with cuts and scrapes, his entire body a mosaic of blood and bruised flesh.


Written for the Hoodie_time comment meme over at LJ.

Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.

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><p>He and his brother are bickering about who the best superhero is. Dean has always looked up to Batman. The guy doesn't even have any superpowers, just a few kick-ass weapons. Dean always felt a special connection to Batman, because <em>he <em>stops the bad guys without any superpowers, too. He makes a few snarky comments about how girly his brother is for liking a dude who wears tights and cracks a few jokes regarding one infamous Halloween his brother stole a pair of stockings and jumped around the hotel room. Sam, always the drama queen, storms off to clear his head and look for fresh chupacabra tracks. Dean's wandering around now…alone. He strolls aimlessly, enjoying the beautiful scenery of the dense forest, not paying much attention to his surroundings...a rookie move, he later decides.

Suddenly, he's face-to-face with the monster. He stands in awe of the chupacabra's humongous fangs, the large scales that glimmer in the afternoon sun, and the claws that could pierce his flesh like a butter knife. Dean's training kicks in. He cocks his gun, aims...but it jams. He searches around wildly for Sam, for a weapon of some sort, for anything...

But there's nothing. So he does what seems like the only thing he _can_ do: he runs.

He's running for what feels like hours, charging through the underbrush, tree limbs lashing out at his face. He's running so hard his lungs are burning. His arms, face, and chest are mottled with cuts and scrapes, his entire body a mosaic of blood and bruised flesh. His aches, old and new, scream at him in fresh complaint, but he ignores them. He wants to keep going, but he's tired. He's one big bruise from head to toe. His heart is pounding so fast, he thinks it's going to jump right out of his chest. He wants to stop, his body is begging him to slow down, but he knows what will happen if the monster catches up to him. His body is becoming clumsier, finding each tree root as if he's magnetically attracted to it. He trips over a huge tree trunk and crashes headlong, rolling and tumbling down the slope in a tangle of limbs and leaves and twigs and mud. Scrambling to his feet, he thrashes out into the clinging forest again.

He tries to plod along, but the stabbing pain in his left foot is stealing all his energy. He desperately ducks down behind the closest tree. Shrinking back, he screws his eyes closed and presses his battered body as far back into the tree trunk as he can, gripping his now-useless gun with all his might. His breath is blowing in and out of him faster than his body can process the oxygen, and he feels dizzy, wants to vomit.

Lying on the hard forest floor behind a tree, panting heavily, he tries to figure out how he got himself into this "sticky" situation. The fight with Sam feels like ages ago, and if he could take it all back, he would. He feels insanely stupid, like he's let himself down. Batman would never have let himself lose focus in the middle of a hunt. The Caped Crusader wouldn't have let his weapons jam, or tripped on a stupid branch. Batman especially wouldn't be hiding behind a tree, waiting for help that's probably never going to come. That's because he's _not_ Batman, and he's _not _a superhero…he's just dumb old Dean Winchester.

He hears the growling of the chupacabra getting louder, its footsteps shaking the earth beneath him. The beast finally catches up to him, raising its massive claws to cut into him as if he were a slice of cherry pie. He closes his eyes, prepares for the terrible death that will surely befall him...

"Dean!" He opens his eyes and sees his brother jump out from behind a tree. Sam shoots the behemoth several times in the chest and head. Dean flinches as the blood sprays all over his face, getting into his mouth, eyes, nostrils...he's going to need a loooong shower when this is all over.

When the 'cabra finally lays on the floor, unmoving, Sam runs over to where Dean's still laying next to the tree, shaking. Sam takes out a penlight, examining his brother's eyes. He takes his brother's arm, feels the racing pulse beneath skin that's slick with sweat. Dean's waiting for Sam to chew him out for being irresponsible. He's waiting for the ever-predictable "bitch face" that his brother gives during each of his lectures. He knows he deserves it. But there are no words of rebuke, just firm but gentle hand motions over his torso, arms, and legs. He stops when he gets to Dean's mangled ankle. Sam rolls back the pant leg, examines the tender, swollen skin. He rips a few shreds of fabric off his shirt, grabs some branches and makes a haphazard splint. A million thoughts are running through Dean's head, a million things he'd like to say. He wants to crack a joke, wants to thank his brother for saving him. But nothing's coming out; he's still shaking from fear, or shock.

His brother stands, mutters some unnecessary command to wait there. _Where am I gonna go? _Dean thinks dryly. Sam turns to the dead creature on the ground, and starts the preparations of setting it on fire. Dean just sits there, silently watching.

Sam finishes burning the monster, turns back to Dean, and holds out his hand. Dean takes it and hoists himself up, a barely audible grunt slipping from his lips. He lets his arm be put over his baby brother's shoulder. They begin the long, daunting trek out of the forest.

It's right then and there that Dean realizes that the best superhero of all is right there next to him.

END


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